


The Angel Face Killer

by Dragonlady31



Category: Good Omens (TV), Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Mystery, Other, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-17 08:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonlady31/pseuds/Dragonlady31
Summary: Aziraphale's face is the face of a serial killer, it seems. Now he and Crowley are investigating the why's and wherefore's of this cosmic mystery in the rough and tumble of NYC's intrigues.





	1. An Unexpected Photo

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a hypothetical look at a world in which Aziraphale and Crowley from Good Omens interact with some of the other characters that Michael Sheen or David Tennant have played on screen.
> 
> The inviting incident is Aziraphale's realization that he looks an awful lot like the American serial killer Dr. Martin Whitly.
> 
> This story is being written before the release of Prodigal Son, and thus plotlines and characterization may be different from those portrayed in the show.
> 
> As always, all original ideas belong primarily to their creators and are used by fan creators with gratitude.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is confronted with a shocking photo.

Aziraphale did not read American news frequently. His brief tenure in the Dowling residence during Warlock's adolescence had apprised him of the broad strokes of current American politics and interests, and he usually found this sufficient.

Today, he was bored, as Crowley had insisted on both watering his plants and changing clothes before they could go out for brunch. Fortunately, he never locked his tablet, and Aziraphale felt this was invitation enough to find something to do while he waited. Since Crowley delighted in following American politics and crime, Aziraphale was unsurprised to find the New York Times app still opened to its top stories of interest. Scrolling through, a photo caught his eye. The headline read: "Serial killer copycat shakes NYC."

Shocked, Aziraphale read through the article, becoming more and more deeply disturbed. The worst part was the resemblance. Dr. Martin Whitly, serial killer known infamously as "The Surgeon" looked uncomfortably like the face he saw every day in the mirror. Aziraphale looked up and compared the face he saw reflected back in Crowley's polished chrome with the face shown in the news article. What was the difference in his angelic countenance and this man, whose visage had been the last sight for 23 victims? Surely there was one, wasn't there?

Crowley's sauntering entrance roused him from this unsettling contemplation, but Aziraphale's discomfort could not escape the demon's sharp notice.

"Halo's looking a little exclamatory today, Angel. What's on your mind?"

"Just the news, you know. Depredations of humanity and such. A nice plate of crepes should put me quite right again."

Since Crowley was a master of subtext, he knew that this particular Aziraphale-forehead wrinkle did not represent a problem that a full crepe brunch could rectify. Since Crowley was a master of subtlety, he also knew that the best way to persuade Aziraphale into sharing was to casually bring the topic up again once a large plateful of crepes had distracted him.

So the Bentley set off with one concerned angel and one scheming devil on a quest to find a large plateful of crepes for a late morning brunch.


	2. Brunch Will Make Things Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley figures out what's been bothering Aziraphale after a lovely plate of crepes.

"Do you think there are humans out there who, maybe, look like us?"

Crowley's surprise at Aziraphale's question was overtaken by the realization that this, finally, was his gateway into figuring out what had been bothering his angel since they had left for brunch.

"Do you mean the statistical or realistic answer?" Crowley drawled.

Aziraphale twitched. "Yes. I mean, both, if you please."

"My answer's yes then. To both. When you gave up your lot's glitter and I gave up my lot's grime, we took up the similitude of humans, yeah? So it's very likely that there's, somewhere or somewhen out there, a human who looks, at least passingly, like us." Crowley leaned back in his chair, his casual appearance belying the attentiveness with which he awaited Aziraphale's response.

Crowley had categorized Aziraphale's hums. There was the newly found book and hot cocoa hum, the someone-being-rather-clever hum, and the Crowley-just-did-something-good hum. This hum meant that Aziraphale was having to think about something unpleasant.

"What if it's more than that? What if someone were walking around wearing your face, but they were a saint or a religious leader?"

Normally, these aspersions would quite rankle Crowley's sense of himself as minor annoyance extraordinaire. But normally he had to be much more concerned with his appearance Down There. And normally he was not quite as eager to find out what was wrong with his angel.

"Angel, are you afraid someone out there is using your perfectly innocent face to murder people?"

This was supposed to be a gentle mocking jab, but Aziraphale flinched, and suddenly Crowley knew that he had guessed exactly what the issue was.

"There's actually a doppelganger of you out there doing terrible things, isn't there?" Crowley leaned forward in interest.

Aziraphale sighed, wrung his napkin, and started scrolling through the news app on Crowley's phone. Without saying anything, he handed the phone to Crowley, who was struck by the photo at the top of the selected story.

A low whistle, a quick skim -- "He really does look like you. Nasty piece of work though. Twenty-three victims, and now a copycat?" Crowley shook his head.

"The thing is, he looks just like me --"

"Well, except for the eyes. I'd say the eyes look," Crowley paused, searching for the right word. "Dead. His eyes look dead, and yours never do."

"Something fishy is going on. I feel it." Aziraphale humphed.

"Ignoring all my compliments, Angel, again? We talked about this!" Crowley did want to be thanked, or at least complimented in kind, but right now he was stalling for time. Aziraphale's embarrassed blush gave him the moment he needed to figure out a plan.

"It seems we should head to New York then. At least check it out. Make sure nothing 'fishy' is going on."

Aziraphale looked relieved. "I've been longing to try the food at Per Se. It's supposed to be an east coast interpretation of the French Laundry, you know."

"I definitely did not know. Keeping track of all the new restaurants to try is your area of expertise."

Both of them left the restaurant relieved. Aziraphale felt relieved that Crowley had taken his concern seriously, and that there was now a definite plan to address the problem. Crowley felt relieved that he had been able to find out the problem without spending days around a fretful, anxious Aziraphale; he was unbearable in that state.


	3. A New York State of Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale arrive in NYC. Once settled in, they obtain some general information about their target.

New York City was everything Crowley wanted it to be and everything Aziraphale expected it to be. They spent an unreasonable hour shelving Aziraphale's "essential" books in the loft they had rented, while Crowley complained that his earthly hobby had been left with a soaker hose and instructions to behave. In deference to his forbearance, Aziraphale let Crowley order a delivery of the most New York style pizza he could find, and the two sat in the cafe nook of the loft eating and outlining their plan.

Their main conflict was that Aziraphale wanted to approach the situation from a professional manner -- go in as inspectors or officers and find what they needed through well-placed questions and official paperwork. Crowley preferred a more underhanded method -- cause a distraction, slip in unnoticed, observe the suspect, and maybe practice some interrogation. In the end, they decided to try Aziraphale's method first, because Crowley knew they'd end up using his plan in the end.

\--

The next day, rested and well-supplied with bagels, the two departed for the prison where Dr. Martin Whitly was being held. A miracled uniform and some minor identification fudging led to their sitting down with the warden to discuss their prisoner of interest.

"Who are you here to talk about?" The man was gruff and tough, but didn't seem overly suspicious.

"We have some questions about Prisoner Martin Whitly, sir," Aziraphale stated.

The warden nodded and leaned back in his chair. "It's that killer, isn't it. You know, his son was just down here the other day to talk to his old man. Sometimes it helps with copycats -- get the original mastermind's perspective; look for mistakes. Can't imagine if it was family though. Tough. Real tough."

Crowley clucked sympathetically and asked, "Might we see the prisoner's paperwork? We're mostly interested in interview transcripts and that sort of thing."

The warden took a few minutes to find a specific file on his computer and then took a few more minutes to print the large file out.

On their way out the door, he said, "You look exactly like him, you know."

Aziraphale's face grew pinched as he answered, "I know."

With a knowing wink at the warden, Crowley added, "I think it's why he was assigned to the case. Nothing like seeing someone in your mug locked away for life to scare a man straight."

"Doesn't look like he's been straight a day in his life." Crowley was glad that Aziraphale couldn't hear the mumbled reply. He was unreasonably sensitive about things like that. Besides, Crowley liked him prissy.


	4. The Purpose of a Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets a new suit because he's headed to a fancy party to talk with Mrs. Jessica Whitly, and he needs to make a good first impression.

Crowley did not, in general, enjoy formal wear. He prioritized comfort and style in his outerwear, and seldom found either in clothes that were designed to look correct, which usually meant uptight. However, he did enjoy wearing clothing with a certain sharp slickness to it, and this evening's event required such poignant attire.

As always, he deferred to Aziraphale's judgment on what a properly cut suit should be, allowing him to manage the store attendant that had appeared to assist them. In the end, his red hair was emphasized by a deep blue suit, dove grey shirt, and navy bowtie. Glasses tinted lightly blue obscured his unusual eyes while still coordinating with his general ensemble. The idea was to be noticable but sympathetic rather than threatening.

Crowley's new suit had a purpose.

According to the news, Ms. Jessica Whitly had been shocked and betrayed by the revelation that her husband was a serial killer. In the following years, she spent time and donated money to charities dedicated to helping victims and their families deal with the aftermath of such crimes.

Aziraphale wondered what it felt like to be married to such a reprehensible person. Had Ms. Whitly known subconsciously? Was her husband a terrible spouse? Or were there no clues that he was a murderer? Were it like those psychopaths in books who take out all their darkness on their victims and then go home to be incredible husbands and fathers?

Crowley did not wonder what being married to such a person was like. He felt fairly immune to the deep depredations of human nature by now. And he understood what a face like that, hiding a ruthless mind underneath, could do to an unwitting bystander.

In the end, it was decided that Crowley must be the one to approach Ms. Whitly. Her complete separation from her husband's past made Aziraphale a potentially triggering presence.

"Even if you're better at asking the hard questions, Angel -- which you are not -- I'll be able to get more information out of her."

"How so? You just slant your hips in her direction and make her too distracted to think about what she's saying?" Aziraphale's eyebrow embraced its snark.

So the angel had been paying attention! Crowley lightly preened. "I won't need to flirt with her. I'll just start talking about you. No names of course. And then we'll be talking about her husband, and she won't even know it."

Aziraphale would have liked a more detailed plan, but Crowley was generally better at extracting information from the unwilling than he was. So, he would direct the purchase of a new suit, which Crowley would wear to the event that Mrs. Whitly would be attending that night. Crowley would talk with her, and they might find another clue to this mystery of the man with Aziraphale's face and a demon's soul.


	5. Little Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley attends a formal dinner party where he has the opportunity to discover information about Whitly's past from his ex-wife.

Crowley's suit eased the way for him. It introduced him to politicians, business persons, and retired personnel of all sorts. The suit suggested appropriate hors d'oeuvre, implied the right kind of tête-à-tête, and generally shouted about the type of money that Crowley usually ignored. But tonight, he let his expression drift into an easy affluence that complemented the suit's message.

About halfway through the evening, it paid off, and he found himself being introduced to Mrs. Jessica Whitly, who was attending the evening primarily in her role as philanthropist. He steered the conversation, allowing his suit to distract her attention and using his hips and wrists to seduce her attraction.

Within a few minutes he had led her into a more secluded section of the gallery. Sidestepping her more overt suggestion, he gradually brought the conversation around to more personal details, finally disclosing the existence of a long-term life partner. 

It wasn't until he showed her the photo of Aziraphale that she tensed.

"It's not your husband."

"It looks a lot like him. I think you'll understand why I'm rather concerned about this whole conversation now." Her voice had turned icy.

"They do favor, as you can see. Almost identical. Well, except for the eyes."

"I don't want anything to do with this. I've put my ex-husband far behind me, and I won't go back."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm simply here trying to figure out why my angel looks like someone who dissects other human beings for a hobby. Anything you know about his past that could be of use would get me out of your lovely hair even faster." Crowley's voice sounded like the type of temptation that really made the best sense.

"They aren't twins?" It seemed the logical solution.

"I'm afraid it's highly unlikely in the sense you're thinking." Such a simple solution would make Crowley's life much easier.

"Martin was always rather vague about his past. My impression was rather that he came into the world fully formed, mildly sociopathic, and was dropped rather quickly into the foster system. Of course, my perspective changed somewhat once the news hit. The only thing I remember that might be of interest was that he always said his earliest memory was the woods outside the Aglionby farm in Virginia where he was found. I always thought it was odd because he would have been about seven at the time." Even this remembrance seemed painful.

Crowley inclined his head in thanks. "That is of interest. I'll trouble you no further tonight. You're an exquisite beauty, Jessica, but I hope for your sake that we never meet again."


	6. The Summer of '69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale have been to America before, at the turbulent end of the 1960s.

Aziraphale and Crowley both knew why Aglionby farm was important. In the winter of 1968, both had received instructions from their respective head offices to spend an extended period in America, helping or harming specific end goals there.

The following nine months had been a very busy time for them both.

Crowley reported back to his home office that a draft lottery had finally been instituted for the Vietnam War.

Aziraphale reported that the first troops had been withdrawn from Vietnam to return home.

Aziraphale reported on the Stonewall Riots.

Crowley reported on the police raid of said riots.

Crowley reported on a successful moon landing.

Aziraphale reported on the mysterious closure of Project Blue Book.

Aziraphale reported on the establishment of a public broadcasting network.

Crowley reported on the wild success of Woodstock.

For every positive -- ATM's, Sesame Street, Wendy's -- there was a corresponding negative -- Nixon, Manson, a Zodiac killer.

The glorious summer of 1969 in America was filled with people and events of great interest to their head offices. Although Crowley and Aziraphale were seldom at their own ease, they decided to centralize their location in this vast and loud country by renting a small farmhouse in a quiet little pocket of the West Virginia mountains. Aglionby Farm was their haven in this year of busyness and turmoil.

It made both of them uneasy that such a monstrous human being was found near those woods merely a month after they had returned to England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished the Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater last night. What fun! Unfortunately, the allusion mentioned here is not implying a crossover between the two universes but is merely an homage.
> 
> 1969 was a crazy year for America. All the mentioned events are a thing, and I am happy to provide reasoning for why they are heavenly or demonic according to my classification, if anyone is curious.
> 
> This is a short chapter, but the next one is longer. Almost there! Two more chapters, plus an epilogue!


	7. Take Us Home, Country Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley travel back to the West Virginia woods, where they finally discover the disturbing origins of Dr. Martin Whitly.

The car that Crowley rented to take them down to Aglionby Farm once more was small, modern, and bright yellow, as if he had picked the exact opposite of the Bentley. Aziraphale knew this was precisely the case when he got in and heard actual classical music coming from the stereo.

The drive down into the West Virginia fall sunlight was quiet, as both were lost in their own thoughts. Aziraphale remembered weeks of observation and infiltration relieved by a few days in this quiet backwoods. Crowley remembered long walks in the beautiful woods behind the house, castigating the trees in the way he could never rail at his superiors.

This trip was their first journey back to the US since that intense year, and both Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves slowly sinking back into the nostalgia of that place and time. With such thoughts, the drive passed quickly, and they found themselves surprised by the arrival of their exit. Fifteen minutes on the highway, a short stop at the only red light in town, and a slow meander down the gravel road before they parked in front of the sprawling farmhouse they could never forget.

"It hasn't changed a bit, has it?" Aziraphale sounded amazed.

Crowley hummed a few bars of a poignant tune. "Older than the mountains, younger than the trees, according to the song."

"It certainly feels that way." Aziraphale ran his hand along the porch rail. "Guess we're older than both."

"Still young at heart though." Crowley did not tend toward the bittersweet.

Aziraphale decided that he was unprepared for the interior, and circled the porch for the distant copse of trees. Crowley followed, hands in pockets, watching the occasional fluttering leaf on its burning journey from the tree to the mulch pile.

Upon entering the woods, Aziraphale inhaled deeply, as if startled by a too familiar smell. His interest piqued, Crowley allowed his nonterrestrial senses to absorb the sensation of the woods.

"Feels a little like when I delivered Adam to the Chattering Sisters. But weaker. And older." Crowley was somewhat unsure what to make of this.

"I'm sensing the impression an angel leaves behind once they've gone. But changed somehow." Aziraphale looked somewhat puzzled.

The realization of what they were sensing gradually intruded on both of their consciousness until they stared at each other in horror. Neither wanted to voice the thought that had come between them. Finally Aziraphale spoke.

"I've only heard about this in rumors, but there's a significant mythology about the adamasir in certain circles." He winced even as he said the word.

"You don't think that monstrosity came from --" Crowley could not find the words to finish his thought.

Adamasir were rumors, fiction from over-active supernatural beings with too much time on their hands. Like many mythological constructions, they were considered very dangerous, possibly powerful, and highly untamable. Crowley thought of Dr. Martin Whitly's eyes in Aziraphale's face and shivered. How could they have created such a monstrous thing?

"It was a very busy year," Aziraphale mused. "We were always in and out. But it was also some of our best work. A highly creative time."

"And all that creativity and busyness just merged together in the woods and what? Now we have some sort of physical manifestation of that?" Crowley did not want to be responsible for that thing.

"I suppose in a way he is our --" Aziraphale choked on the last word.

"Our son? Is that what you're trying to say?" Crowley was furious with helplessness. "We've foisted upon the world some ridiculous spiritual offspring that thinks it's fun to murder people in cold blood while acting completely innocent about it!"

"I read his files too, Crowley!" Aziraphale's raised voice conveyed his own sense of regret. "He's a monster, an angel face with a demon soul, and we made him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adamasir is a term I mangled from two Hebrew words. Adam refers to the earth, and asir refers to being tied, bound, or imprisoned. This, the adamasir are those who are tied to the earth, bound to terrestrial forms, or imprisoned in humanity, depending on your point of view.   
In this story, the term refers to one who is a mixture of demonic and angelic, hence the angel face killer. It could also be assumed that these strangely created "humans" tend toward insanity due to their backgrounds.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale finally meet with Dr. Martin Whitly and learn some chilling news.

Crowley burnt the incriminating woods behind them as they left. (He allowed Aziraphale to warn the woodland animals first.) The fire would draw some attention to the place, but its ability to mask the truth of Whitly's origins made it necessary. Neither spoke much as they drove out of town, focusing their conversation entirely on their plan to deal with the situation.

It was finally resolved, mostly on Aziraphale's insistence, that they meet with Martin Whitly face-to-face. The infiltration plan was to be entirely Crowley's, and the interrogation mostly Aziraphale.

\--

Crowley did not like the way that Whitly looked at them. His eyes betrayed both the childlike excitement of having finally found his parents after being lost for such a long time, but they also gleamed with a smug calculation of how he could use this to his advantage.

Aziraphale was patiently trying to lay out the danger of his existence, interspersed with well-meant commentary on how he might reform his past. Crowley refrained from adding much to this discussion because he was not entirely convinced that the man before him could or would change. There was a deep psychology of father-son relationship that seemed to color all Whitly's interactions, a trend both Crowley and Aziraphale had noted on their examination of his prison record. This new knowledge of his own strange paternity seemed to reinforce this obsession, rather than help it.

"He's not really listening to me, is he?" Aziraphale had directed this last at Crowley.

Crowley searched Whitly's face for the answer he already knew. "I think we're just reinforcing his obsession at this point, Angel. Besides, he's fairly well-contained here. They aren't letting him go anytime soon."

Crowley stretched and rose from the rather uncomfortable chair. He had feared this interview would do little good, but it had to be tried. They would keep an eye on Whitly, make sure he stayed in prison where he belonged.

As Aziraphale and Crowley turned to leave, Dr. Martin Whitly spoke for the first time: "I'm not the only one, you know. We're the same -- all of us outcasts. All of us family, your boys, that together could ruin this Earth, or save it. I'm confined in this cell, hoping that occasionally one of my own children might visit me. The others -- you might be able to save them in time."

Crowley felt a chill crawl up his neck at the idea that there might be other adamasir in the world. Aziraphale paled even more than normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got an epilogue left, and that's all!
> 
> I really appreciate all the lovely kudos, comments, and subscriptions! I didn't know how inspiring it would be to write for an audience that was excited to read what I'd produced. So thank you all for showing me how wonderful it would be to get back into this world of writing!


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley move forward with their new knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this story of mine! I've had such fun writing it, although I'm sad that we're finally done.
> 
> My next plan is to try my hand at a Harry Potter AU. It's a world in which magic is a binary musical system, magical houses exist, and two grieving souls (Harry and Female!Draco) bond over mutual loss. Fair warning, although the characters stay (mostly) the same, the world itself is very different from Wizarding Britain. Chapter One is up already as a preview. I'd be delighted if you'd check it out!

Once they knew what to look for, Crowley and Aziraphale became overwhelmed with the number of potential adamasir they had sired over the years. Thankfully, many (like the sadist Cale Erendreich) had already been apprehended by law enforcement or other organizations. Others, like Malcom Howe, seemed to fade into obscurity with the death of their cult. A few occasionally were living strange, but not diabolical, lives. These worried them the most, for they implied the possibility of a ticking time bomb.

Crowley slapped a gossip magazine in front of Aziraphale.

"Not there! You'll get syrup everywhere!" Aziraphale sputtered around a bite of waffle.

Crowley pointed to the cover. "There's our next one. Some abominable writer who produced a thousand pages of pretentious tripe about birds and romance is getting married to some blonde celebrity."

Aziraphale's attention was drawn to the overexposed cover photos of a young man who looked remarkably like Crowley.

"You're worried the sudden money and exposure will drive him over the edge?" Aziraphale delicately wiped at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm worried that he'll hie off to this ridiculous little island he wrote about and found a cult with bird-themed ritual murders!" Crowley was only this hyperbolic when he was actually concerned.

Aziraphale magicked away the breakfast table and snapped his fingers for their luggage.

"We should probably go ruin a wedding," he said cheerfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are all roles that Michael Sheen and David Tennant have played. The one they are going off in search of is based on Tennant's role in The Decoy Bride, a delightful little romcom about the fictional island of Hague. It's not a masterpiece, but it's cute and heart warming.
> 
> Again, thank you for reading this fun little adventure. Please let me know if you'd like more in this vein, or if you have any questions about the content or its implications.


End file.
